Gabriel's Daughter
by The Whovian
Summary: Not literally, though. The story of Samira Kapur, a normal (Muslim) girl starts when she becomes part angel herself, forced into the world of demons and angels. With the power of an angel and the will of a human, she may just the the most powerful being yet. And let's throw in some uncontrollable urges that Samira must also face. (OC, maybe pairing with Castiel, but we'll see)
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Supernatural, and this is an OC story taking place in the middle of season 5. I'll try to keep me Author's notes short, so go ahead and enjoy!**

_Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep-_

_Slam!_

'5:00 am Tuesday' the ages old Cinderella alarm clock said. Tuesday. The only day worse than Monday. Yesterday's Monday had been especially Monday-y, but Samira's tired mind forced itself to focus instead on her dawn, or _fajr_, prayer, and the preparation required. While rubbing sandy-caramel colored hands in her eyes, she trudged to the bathroom, grabbing a clean washcloth on her way down the hall of her apartment. Or, she should say, the apartment of her and her father, Ishan, more commonly called Ian.

Right on cue, his alarm of obscure foreign music sounded as she passed his door. Every day, she heard that alarm a full minute after hers. The song itself had not changed for a full year, an unusually long time for Ishan to adore a single song. It was starting to get on her nerves. And her father refused to tell her at least what language the song was in. Being part of a very culturally diverse family in America, Samira spoke many languages. But this song was not Hindi, Arabic, French or English, to say in the least.

"Wake up dad" Samira croaked, leaning her weight on the door handle and seeing her dad roll over after the alarm. Every day, she thought exasperatedly. "Dad, that alarm is supposed to wake you up."

"5 more minutes" he murmured, pulling a dull white pillow over his eyes to block the few piercing rays from the hall shining directly on his face. Then he chuckled at some irony that popped into his mind. "You're not supposed to be waking me up." With a sigh, he pulled the blankets off, signaling that her job as back-up alarm had been completed. Thank Allah for that, she wasn't willing to think about that statement proving that she held much more responsibility than most did.

No doubt this day's gonna be dull, she thought, turning on the cold water in the bathroom faucet and splashing it on her face. The action _did_ serve to slap her skin into awareness, but her eyes threatened to droop once more as she stared at herself in the mirror. Rubbing her coffee-colored eyes, she tried to chase away the sleep deprivation thanks to college studies. However, in that instance after rubbing her eyes, she saw a figure in the mirror, there only for the slightest instant. But when she spun to see the personage directly, she saw nothing. Once again, she rubbed her eyes. All she remembered about the strange vision was a nod they gave, as if in approval. But what could that mean.

"You alright?" her father asked, wearing new clothes for the day, his usual dress shirt and tie with jeans. Genuine concern showed on his stubble-ridden face, an expression she was well-accustomed to with an honest and worrisome father. She smiled, and the edge of his concern dissolved.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little sleep-deprived." Her father nodded, equally accustomed to a selfless and independent daughter. While those attributes were the exact things he hoped to teach his daughter, Samira caught the slight flicker of sad helplessness. Instead of addressing it, she ran her washcloth under the sink to scrub at her face, then forearms and feet. He began to brush his teeth. A silence settled in the shared bathroom, both hoping it wasn't awkward to the other. Her father finished brushing his teeth quickly.

"So, Sam" that was her nickname, and what many of her friends and teachers called her. "How are your studies going?"

A safe topic. One she could talk about to cheer up her father with her excitement. "Really well! We're getting more in depth in black holes, which I always love, because what's on the other side? I've always wondered, but maybe we'll talk about that in Armstrong's class. Anyways, in physics, we're studying" and so went on her waterfall of words that filled the room with her passion. For astrophysics, we should specify. Ever since Samira camped with her father at age 10, out in the middle of nowhere, she forced her eyes open late into the night simply to stare at the rare sight of a dark canvas filled with wonders called stars. Now in her 6th year of studying those beloved stars, Sam was well on her way to a doctorate degree.

"I'm glad to hear that" her father smiled, hanging his washcloth to dry. His curly hair would barely acquiesce to the comb he ran through it, but with repetition, he could manage to look decent. Some days it required the use of hair gel. Today might be one of those days.

"What about your English classes? Are any students impressing you yet?" Sam replied, hoping to boost his spirits for what she felt would be a dull day.

"Well, one in particular, a Jay Kirk, he's certainly a stunning writer. What's more impressive is that he's the class clown, does nothing but goof off while we have our class discussions on classic literature. Yet, somehow, the kid will see the meaning behind the words at a far deeper level than any other student, almost to my level, and I've been teaching for 20 years." There was almost respect, pride in his voice.

Samira finished with her last foot, and hung her washcloth next to his. "That's great! And so early in the school year, I'm glad you'll like something." Better than last year, definitely, she remembered with a shudder, walking back to her room to pick clean, new clothes for fajr prayer and the following day. The usual decision of 'what to wear' seemed to slow her mind to a complete stop. After glancing at the clock, she instantly moved from her frozen position to pick (at least) a semi-cohesive outfit before rushing to fold her scarf and put on the _hijab_.

"Sorry" she murmured, speed-walking to the living room where her father was waiting for fajr. Without thinking, she placed the socks in her hand on the coffee table before standing to face Mecca.

"No worries" he murmured in reply before clearly enunciating the _shahada_ (confession of faith) and _Qu'ran _(scripture) verses in unison with her while performing the _rak'a_, or prayer movements. As always, Samira smiled as holy words in her mother Arabic tongue flowed from her mouth like delicate and beautiful snowfall, floating in the air long after being released.

Maybe today wouldn't be so dull after all.

"Thanks for the pancakes, Sam" her father said, the words quickly followed by him wolfing down a syrup-covered slab of the fried batter. Samira smiled at a random thought that occurred to her, flipping her pancake over to show a warm brown cooked side.

"No problem. Does it taste minty?" The smile on her face indicated that those words were meant as a joke.

"Huh?" he asked around a mouthful of pancake.

"Nothing." The smile fell. "You brushed your teeth earlier this morning, so I was just wondering if you could still taste the toothpaste while eating."

"Oh, no! No, no, of course not, these are too delicious!" he exclaimed, anxious to earn back his daughter's smile. His accent, in his hurry, had come through, showing his Indian heritage, especially in the word 'delicious'. "I'm going to be home late tonight. Some colleagues from work are going out for beer. They know I won't drink, and asked me to be their designated driver."

"Alright, just make sure you've got your phone with you, and that we pray together before you go to sleep."

"Yes mom" her dad laughed, making her chuckle as she got her plate of berries and pancake assembled. "I've got to dash. _Salem_." The dishes clattered in the sink. Her skinny figure of a father grabbed the nearby laptop bag and jogged to the door the second she sat down at the small kitchen table.

"_Salem_" she managed before the door shut.

Thousands of faces passed Samira, and today, something about the thought bothered her. Normal, Tuesday November morning, the average overcast sky of Seattle. University of Washington hurled its normal routine of sleepy-eyed students with piles of books in their arms. Thousands of faces thinking a thousand thoughts believing a thousand things. And every one of these 1,000,000,000 different features were vastly different from the next. In its own, rainbow mash sort-of way, it was beautiful.

"Crap!" she yelled checking her watch to see that her pace had slowed enough to make her late. Her legs complained with the combined weight of the textbooks, notebooks and laptop carried in her arms and in a blue messenger back bumping against her leg. Or maybe they complained because they weren't used to running up the stairs two at a time. Either way, her heart rate ran embarrassingly high as she snuck through the back door for her lecture class.

Several eyes glanced away from the active professor writing on the whiteboard to glance at her. One pair of monochromatic green eyes glanced her way, soon followed by a hurried 'get your ass over here' hand movement.

"Thanks Hannah" she whispered to her unhealthily skinny blonde friend, trying to suppress gasps for air while digging for a mechanical pencil.

"No probs. You didn't miss anything, he was just going over the reading for a bit, make sure we understand the big picture of a star's life."

"Yea, fun times." Samira didn't think of anything more to say. Besides the definite signs of improvement in the girl's health since last year's anorexia, Hannah looked no different than any other Tuesday. Before her earlier thoughts of the diversity within human thought threatened her focus, she scribbled the two lines of notes Hannah had written to then listen to the animated professor's voice.

This professor would teach only the unit on stars, leaving the rest to their regular professor, Mr. Owens. For now, however, the students enjoyed the temporary change from the tired middle-aged man to learn from the excited Mr. Smith. John Smith, was the name he introduced himself as. The most generic name the English language had to offer.

The usual alarm Mr. Owens had set to signal the end of class went off, sending an intense _bring-bring_ through the entire lecture room. With a sigh, Samira closed her notebook. Her pencil fell to the ground, and being the average pencil, it must've transported to another dimension in that second. Damn, that's her last pencil. She searched around to find it, making a mental note to buy more.

"Sam, do you want to study for this test together?" Hannah asked, standing over Samira with her books in her arms.

"Yea! How about this weekend? I think the unit test is in a couple weeks, so that'd be plenty of time."

"Yea. Let's see, Saturday works best. What about you?"

Samira shrugged, now searching the row in front of theirs to find the accursed tool. "Yea. How about 10 at your apartment?"

"Great. See you then" Hannah smiled, stepping around the crouching woman to escape the empty lecture room. The door, after its long stream of grad students, finally closed. It was slightly warmer, now, with the portal to the outside chill closed. Would it be worth it to ask someone for a pencil in her next class?

"It's on the desk to the left of where you sat" said a man's voice. She jumped to her feet in surprise, since she had assumed she was alone. Before her stood Professor Smith, extremely attractive (for a white person, she wasn't normally _interested_ in them) when seen close up. In the center of the lecture room, he had been the size of an action figure, too small to discern any features. The expression on his face was a bit suspicious in the confidence that was evident.

Samira grabbed her pencil, looking away from the man. How young was he? "Thank you." With the pencil safely in her messenger bag, putting away her notebook was the only excuse left to remain behind. Something almost..._wanted_ to stay here, like some part of her found something about the man worthwhile. No, that couldn't be…

But when she looked back at him, his expression seemed more honest than before. Maybe the cocky attitude was a product of her perception. He held out his hand. "John Smith. And you're Samira Kapur, right?"

"Yeah." Why was he speaking to her? Not that she minded the attention of an attractive and intelligent man, but still…

Now his eyes turned downwards, then upwards, then side to side. "Would you, uh, like to go for a cup of coffee sometime?" He obviously struggled to maintain the eye contact that Samira now felt comfortable giving. "I mean, it might be weird with me as the temporary professor. I'm only a few years older than you, and-"

"Yes" she said, smiling, trying to save him some embarrassment for when he looks back on this encounter. "I would love to. How about now, in fact?" She had no obligations before her physics lab in 40 minutes, so why not? "That is, if you're not busy."

"No, I don't teach until noon. I've got time, yea." An awkward silence settled between them as Samira picked up her textbooks, struggling to pile them correctly. "Do you want me to carry anything?" he offered eagerly.

"Yes, that would be great" she said, handing him two of the lighter textbooks and a notebook. The feminist in her dictated that she carry the last, large calculus textbook. "Thanks" she said, stepping up the tiered lecture room to the door in the back. She vaguely wondered how awkward this man would be, and judging by their current snippets of conversation, very.

The cold air slapped her in the face when he held open the door, politely smiling. Oh man, he's so awkward. In a way, that made him more attractive, but only because a kind, hopeful part of her wanted to know him better, so that their conversations were less awkward. "I know this great coffee shop, it's just off campus, and way better than Starbucks."

"Oh, what's it called?" Samira asked, hoping to start a conversation on this topic.

"I forget. I've never paid attention to it, you know?" he said quickly, leading them towards the city streets of noisy cars and busy people. "I've just always gone there, not paying much attention to the name."

"How long have you lived here?" Samira stepped around a tall woman in heels talking on her celphone, who made her height of 5' 9" seem miniscule.

"Just a couple of years. For my PHD, I mean, I'm trying to become an astronomy professor. Well, obviously, I mean, I'm teaching your class." His voice had raised in volume as they came to the more densely populated streets in the city. It was more the cars causing the noise than the silent rushing people, clearly too hurried to converse with anyone.

Samira's eyebrows raised a degree when he stepped down an alley towards a door in the side of the building. This ranked a 10 on her suspicion meter, on a scale of 1 to 5. Innocent confusion came across John Smith's face. "What's wrong?"

An act. He couldn't really be expecting her to believe that. Panic shoved adrenaline through her veins, raising her heart rate. Her hand groped in the outer pocket of her messenger bag for the pepper spray her father had bought her.

John Smith's expression fell into an exasperated look. He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. Suddenly he didn't seem so awkward anymore. "That pepper spray ain't gonna help you much, Sam. Ironically, you've got the same name as the guy you and I are trying to kill."

"I want nothing to do with killing." Samira's tone was more terrified than determined. "I want nothing to do with you."

"Sure you do!" He began stepping towards her, slowly, like a predator closing in on its prey. "The apocalypse has started, caramel-cake. You're the best candidate to defeat the Devil, since our angel's vessel ain't complying."

Run, Sam, run, run, RUN!

"'Course, the Devil's vessel is kinda his brother, and they're both refusing." The way he rambled…this must be casual to him. Now he stood only a couple paces away. Where was that damn pepper spray?!

"So you, my little angel, are going to become an angel."

Two fingers reached slowly to touch her forehead. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she collapsed into blackness.

**So, there's my first chapter. I'm new to the fandom, and I'm not Muslim myself, so if there are some details that you want to correct me on, then please message me, and I will edit the chapter as such. Hope you like this enough to click 'next'!**


	2. Chapter 2

"...come sailing in, on Christmas day, on Christmas day, I saw three ships- Ooh! You're awake!"

Samira's mind was hazy, like fog dirtied the ground called her conscious. Her first instinct was to simply let the tempting sleep take over, but then her senses notified her that her hands and feet were bound. Her eyes finally struggled open to see a dark room, shelves on the walls filled with multiple vials of flowing white mist. A lamp shone light onto a corner, where sounds of metal falling on metal came. "I always love Christmas carols. Anytime of the year, they're an absolute ball. But I guess you don't celebrate it. Oh, by the way, I left your hijab on, but I'll still need direct contact with your head."

"What are you going to do to me?" Samira tried to sound out the words through her garbled mouth, but they instead came out as 'Fuh erryu guin to duh tuh me?'

"I already told you!" He dropped something heavy onto the metal tray he faced. The image of his figure was still fuzzy, but if her eyes weren't betraying her, he had set down a syringe. In his hand hung a small sealed tube, filled with glowing white mist. Was this something he was…testing?

He spun to face her. "I'm making you into an angel."

If Samira's mind wasn't so muddled, then she'd yell, scream at him, do _something_ to try to stop him. But no...

"Now I am a man of science, Samira." His eyebrows furrowed for a second. "No, I'm an _angel_. Hard to remember that sometimes, ever since I was cast out." Angel? Cast out? Was this Lucifer? Please Allah, no…

"Anyways! I've go' me a scientific mind, I love experimenting, inventing, all the like. But one experiment I've always been stuck on is creating angels. Every time I try, my subjects have died, and more often than not, I've come close as well.

"Now, why am I telling you this? I'm glad you asked." He began to walk slowly around the table which she laid on. "I can feel it in my _bones_ that this is the one, this is the time I succeed. And I've also got the feeling that this will be the most dangerous one yet. So dangerous, in fact, that I am certain I will die.

"I know, I know, it's quite the price to pay. But it's for a greater cause!" He whipped to face her, clenching his fists, pure hope shining darkly on his face, casting twisted shadows on his features. "The apocalypse is here, Samira, and we need angels now, more than ever! If I can make a human-angel hybrid, then we'll have a being more powerful than God himself."

"Are you Lucifer?" Samira struggled to say. What was he saying about the apocalypse? "Sure as hell twisted enough."

"No. I'm called Jonathan. I'm no archangel, I'm just a foot soldier. But that's a tangent we don't have time for."

He waved his hand, but his expression snapped into a much more serious and focused one. Both his hands gripped the table, one on each side of her head. "We need to discuss a few things. I'm going to die, here, in this room, and you're going to live. That much I do know. Today marks the rise of an army of angels, but more than angels, human-angel hybrids. With the intelligence of a human and the power of an angel, Lucifer himself won't stand a chance. These human-angel hybrids will stop the apocalypse. And you're the first, Sam. Ironic, since the name of the human vessel for Lucifer is Sam. Wonder how fate played into that…" Some thought must've carried him away. Samira tried to break the bonds, but the leather was too tough, and the buckle made it even harder.

"No use. Even if you get out, I'll just use someone else, and you're human instinct is telling you to run." Hot breath ran over her ear as he leaned in. "And we both know what road that leads you. You've been taught all your life as a Muslim what your instinct does wrong. So think about it before you act."

"Why me?" Samira spat at him, angry for his words. Damn his logic. "You could've chosen anyone, anywhere. You're an angel, so why me?"

He chuckled, backing away but keeping his hands on the table. "Everyone asks that question, 'why me?' Well, that bloke from Ireland was passed-out drunk, but that was a complete fail all around. You, however, are hopeful. Promising. You are _graceful_. You're practically an angel already. Sure, the apocalypse that's happening doesn't quite match up with what we're dealing with, but you're a great Muslim. Like, really great. Muhammad would be proud."

No, she would make Muhammad ashamed with some of her choices. "That's not true."

"And that's why your all the more perfect. Remember Hannah? She would have committed suicide after 4 years of anorexia, if you weren't perfect. Never in your life have you lusted for a man. Even in your teenage years, all those human hormones and feelings, you kept your head. You didn't even judge that best friend of yours. What was her name? Susan? She got real kinky real quick, especially with that hockey player. But what did you do? You were like the mother she never had."

How in the world did he know all of that? What he said was true, a little exaggerated in her opinion, but those were real people that she was friendly too. Maybe not _that_ friendly, but this guy was crazy anyways. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He began to walk slowly towards the metal tray in the corner. "I found, interestingly enough, that I can't just pick any human. All my experiments have failed, all because I picked deadbeats off the streets, the kinds of people no one would miss. I didn't want to take too much a toll on the world by taking Ghandi, or something. No, with deadbeats I could only get so far.

"First, I found that an angel must die for me to extract the grace properly. Otherwise, it would be like transplanting an angel, and an angel in the wrong vessel will fry the vessel. So you find the dead body of an angel, and if they're freshly dead, you can catch the grace before it floats to the wind."

"What do you mean, grace?"

"Grace is what makes an angel an angel" he explained, now holding the tube of glowing white mist. "Here is the grace of an angel named Leo. I liked Leo, but I found his body just minutes after he died…" Instead of setting it down, he picked up the empty glass syringe. "You see, grace is a very powerful force, and it's difficult to find dead angels, but there've been plenty of dead angels lately, what, with the apocalypse and all.

"And this grace is so powerful, the recipient be a very tolerant person, the epitome of what humans call graceful. My last test subject was one of the many deadbeats I mentioned earlier. The grace was too overwhelming for him, and he died because his body could not _physically_ handle it." A drop of the grace slipped out of the syringe as he finished assembling. He turned to face her. "But you, however, you! You are a beautiful human being, perfect, and… I'm sorry. There is a man you must kill."

"I will not kill anyone" she snapped.

"You will, if you want to prevent Satan being unleashed upon the Earth as we know it." He stared at her, silent for a moment, letting the words carve into her brain. "His name is Sam Winchester. That is your ultimate goal, Samira. That is the purpose for which fate has intended your existence. The best way to do this, Samira, is to unleash an army on him. Many have tried, but none have succeeded. He is human now, but it's only a matter of time until he chooses to allow Satan to use his body. Samira, I will die creating you. But you are to make more. More like you. I've explained the 'how's and 'why's to your creation. You must create more human-angel hybrids."

"What if it doesn't work with me?" Please, someone burst in that door right now, just someone, anybody-

"I doubt that" he said, exhaling slowly and looking around, as if thinking. "Today's different. In the case this fails, then I've got a 50-50 chance at living, and you're definitely dead."

Samira's eyes widened. This man was crazy.

Steps fell slowly as he walked towards her.

Closer and closer he came. "_La ilaha illa Allah wa-Muhammad rasul Allah_."***** The needle didn't go her arm, like she expected, but instead, her temple. It pierced her skin, sending fire through her veins as it slowly digged through each layer of skin. And it didn't stop when it hit her skull. Every nerve in her body crawled, begging to be ripped from under her skin.

Maybe he began to inject the white substance, or maybe each cell contained in her head was splitting and pressurizing, pushing against her cranium. Samira did not know when she started screaming, but her vocal chords were being shredded with each year-long second.

And finally, her consciousness gave way. But instead of being met with blackness, she collapsed into white.

* * *

"Well, that was a dud" Dean sighed, shutting his door of his Impala as he stepped in, wiping the drops of water from the morning's rain onto his jeans. The overcast sky threatened to rain once again. "Not all of them can be demons."

"Yea, guess the guy just went psycho." Sam pulled out his phone, checking for messages. No calls had come while they had been questioning the guy, so there was no point, but he needed to feel like he was doing something. As expected, nothing.

The car rumbled, and Dean pulled out of the jail's parking lot. In his head, Sam went over the pieces of evidence that had led them here. A guy in a small town outside Seattle tortures and kills his wife, then literally bathed in her blood and ripped out her…ahem… "You sure, though? I mean, he was psycho when we talked to him, but that could be an affect of a demon. Maybe we're missing something from the bible that relates to neutering women."

"No, we've seen psychos a time and a half, but we've seen demons a lot more, and this ain't it. Besides, we're-"

An explosion first blinded them with an intense white light, causing the car to swerve. But then the sound hit them, and Sam could physically feel himself being pushed back by the force. The back window shattered, while the back seat windows cracked. "What the hell?!" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to get his car under control. Thankfully, the highway had no other cars. The only thing threatening them was the dense forest of trees on either side of them.

Sam ducked underneath the roof of the car to see out the windshield, and could see a massive beam of light shooting through the thick Seattle clouds, high above the looming trees. Coming from…close. Only a couple miles away, so very close. "Take that exit" Sam yelled above the ringing in his ears resulting from the boom. What the hell is this? Angels?

"What is that thing?" Dean asked, speeding down a dirt road off of the exit, directly leading to the pillar of light, almost gone now. "I've got a bad feeling about it" he muttered, but sped even faster to catch the last remaining shoots of light, barely echoing the light of earlier.

"No way" Sam breathed, finally able to see the scene through the thick trees. Charred earth surrounded a pile of smoking wooden pieces, creating almost a mile radius all around it. The trees look like they had been blown away by the blast, since, if the tree wasn't reduced to charcoal toothpicks, it lacked leaves and lost quite a bit of mass. The grass, once a lush green, now had dyed black with the blast.

In the remains of a charred wooden frame was a figure, lying on the ground. Their limbs were sprawled in all directions, and as the brothers approached quickly, another figure suddenly appeared, standing over her. "Cas!" Dean yelled, braking hard as they reached the angel. Sam could tell that it was indeed Cas, with his characteristic tan trench coat. Instantly, they were out of the car and jogging towards him.

"Dean, I've never seen anything like this." Instead of the usual serious, grouchy tone, pure awe replaced it.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, directing his confused expression at Cas and Dean.

Instead of replying, Cas pointed towards the figure on the ground. Sam turned slightly to face them, and found that is was a woman. His age, likely, with a very pretty face. The pale orange hijab she wore told him that she was Muslim. What was interesting was the giant image of black angel wings stamped on the earth around her.

That face, the one that Sam just called pretty, suddenly shot into awareness, quickly forcing her body up to a sitting position. Her eyes did not focus on Sam, or Dean, but Castiel.

"I hate you angels" she breathed.

* * *

***the Muslim **_**Shahada**_**, or confession said in conversion, prayers, and right before death. **

**So now, our main character meets the Winchesters. I can't wait until we get to the next part, and I'm already working on the next chapter.**

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

"I hate you angels."

Samira coughed. The wind blew against her, but didn't make her feel cold. Odd, as she was normally the one who would turn around and go back home for the jacket she left behind. Other than that, she felt fine. Maybe a little pain in her head, but that's probably lack of sleep from normal life. And this ain't normal.

Wait…wind. She looked around as she stood up, and saw the scene of decimation before her. No Jonathan, thank Allah. A mile in every direction, every tree had been scorched away, the building around her reduced to charred rubble. The smell of smoldering grass filled her nose, and her trained Seattle senses also told her that it would soon rain.

Three men stood before her, staring in awe. One man was tall, with straight hair that looked a little too long for comfort or style. His clothes made him look tough, yet at the same time, worn. With a mild tan, his face might be attractive to some, but his furrowed eyebrows seemed stuck in a position Samira found very unappealing.

Next to him stood a shorter, but much more attractive man in the same kind of clothes. Maybe he was the 'too-cool-for-school' type. Probably was, considering his muscular build, and faintly blonde hair.

But then the last one. Disheveled, though he may be, something definitely told her that he was an angel. Some sort of aura off of him stated it like a fact, but then that aura also said that he was a different kind of angel. Then again, she had yet to meet a 'normal' angel. First one was crazy, this one wore a trench coat. With the skewed tie and suit, he was attractive. Maybe that was another fact about angels. She furrowed her eyebrows, though. Something similar to a feather floated behind him. No birds were in sight.

"What happened here?" asked the angel. Despite his voice being coarse, it was calming. "That only happens when an angel dies."

"Where to start?" she laughed ironically. Because, well damn, how do you explain an angel that had been cast out chose you to be his next experiment because you were the perfect Muslim girl, and were therefore the best candidate to become an angel-human hybrid after he injected grace into your head?

"I'm Dean" said the shorter, attractive man. The smile on his face was honest, like he cared about how she felt now, something she was relieved to see. "How about we start there?"

"Samira Kapur" she breathed, smiling. Maybe something could go right. These guys seemed ready to help...with...whatever this was. "You can call me Sam."

Both Dean and the angel glanced at the tallest man. "I think we'll stick with Samira, if that's alright with you" Dean replied. "See, my brother's" he gestured to the tallest one "name is Sam. Winchester, we're both Winchester."

Oh no. Sam Winchester. This was the human that would become Satan himself. Jonathan said he died so she could kill this man before her, who now silently waved by moving his hand slightly. This one seemed to be too shocked to do or say anything else. And she had to kill him. "Nice to meet you" she managed awkwardly. Wouldn't be the best ice-breaker to say 'Hi Sam, I know we share the same nickname, but since you're going to destroy the earth, I'm going to have to kill you.'

Hoping the man didn't suspect anything, she turned to the angel. "You're an angel. Got a name?"

"Castiel" he said curtly. He stepped forward, examining her unblinkingly for a second, then speaking. "You're an angel, but you're not an angel."

"Wow, Cas" Dean said behind him. "Way to make sense."

"There's something about her, more powerful than angel or demon."

Oh no. The experiment, _Jonathan's_ experiment, had worked. Castiel barely met her, and already he could tell it had worked.

"You mean, like the half-demon, half-human kid?" This time, Sam had asked the question. Samira was still lost in her thoughts, wondering what to do now she had been mixed up in 'stopping the apocalypse'.

Castiel shook his head. "No, even more powerful. And this power isn't natural. How are you so powerful?" Now his thoughts were directed at her. Snapped out of hers, she tried to think of a suitable answer. To be honest, her brain ached a little, and wasn't willing to defog enough to let her think.

"I, um… I…It's a crazy day." She smoothed her hijab, a habit when she was trying to think. God, they mentioned demons, and Jonathan certainly seemed sure of the idea of Lucifer's capacity to bring about the apocalypse. "First off, has Satan really been…let loose?"

"Yea, um, my fault. Sorry." Sam spoke for the first time, looking mildly apologetic and scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh…" Her wide eyes stared at the ground. So Jonathan was right. Whispers about this day have been overheard in the mosque by Samira, but she didn't expect it to happen. Not while she was still alive, let alone in college. "So, uh, when's the big battle going to happen?"

"Uh, sorry, what?" Dean asked, looking confused.

"The, um, you know." Right, there was a difference between religion and reality. "Sorry, in the Muslim faith—if you haven't noticed already, I'm Muslim—there is to be a battle between the Savior and Satan. Their battle marks the time of Judgment Day, when all will be resurrected and judged before Allah."

The two brothers looked at each other, both bewildered and confused. "That sounds a lot like what the angels want to have happen" Sam said, now examining her suspiciously.

"Sam, she's not an angel" Castiel cut in. "I just said that. She's got the power of an angel and the mind of a human. She's as powerful as an archangel."

"No!" Samira cut in, facing the angel. "No, I can't be. I can't…" His experiment can't have worked _that_ well. Being an archangel would mean...she had a duty to stop the apocalypse...which mean killing Sam...

But his expression remained serious. His dark eyes almost glared at her, and if Samira wasn't mistaken, with a bit of envy. "Maybe not an archangel, but she's would be me without the obligation to serve God. Free will."

"Do you know Jonathan?" Samira asked, hoping that his intense gaze would shift if a new topic was brought up. "He, uh, said he was a angel, foot soldier of sorts."

Now those intense eyes widened in shock. "Jonathan was cast out over a thousand years ago. Did he...Did he succeed?"

Samira nodded, feeling her throat close up in crushing depression. She was an experiment, someone else's success. Her entire existence, as Jonathan had said, was solely intended to kill Sam Winchester. A successful experiment, only surviving in order to kill a man standing a yard away.

But she didn't want to. No, she refused to kill him, despite the fact that he had unleashed Satan and would be the instrument for his destruction. Even if it was ridiculous, she could hope that Sam was doing all he could to prevent his possession, and prevent the apocalypse as a whole.

But her newfound resolution, as confident as she felt in it, would only confuse the men around her. She tried to focus on the actual conversation. "So, uh, apocalypse, yea? How's that going for you guys?"

"Not so well" Dean sighed. "Lucifer is using a back-up vessel, and causing trouble everywhere he goes."

"How much do you know?" Castiel asked her.

"Well, I, uh…" How much should she tell them? No, no, she can't hide anything. Lying is a bad idea, that much she _did_ know. Maybe she just didn't need to tell them that she was supposed to release an army on the Devil's vessel. "I know a bit about an angel's anatomy, how and why the grace works, and that Sam over there is the Devil's vessel."

"Anything else?" Castiel didn't look surprised, and Samira didn't bother looking at the brothers.

"No."

"You forgot that I'm the vessel for Michael" Dean said off-handedly.

Samira furrowed her eyebrows, and looked at the Winchester. "Who's Michael?"

"He's the guy who's supposed to go up against Satan" Sam explained calmly. "Kinda plays the role of 'Savior' in the apocalypse you explained."

A tremor shook her body, but it wasn't from the cold. Something inside her was shivering, quaking, spreading warmth throughout her entire body. Odd…she already felt warm enough. "Do you guys mind taking me back to my place? I think I caught a cold or fever or something." What, with the sudden angelic power forced into her body, chances are that this was a side affect.

"You can't."

Samira whipped towards Castiel, frustrated at his words. "What do you mean I can't?"

Castiel sighed. His eyes filled with dread. "I mean that if you go home, you're going to put everyone around you in danger."

Silence settled around them. For a moment, all they could hear was the wind blowing through trees a mile away. Samira's mind ran a million miles an hour. But all she could think was 'why?'

"I'm not involved in this apocalypse" Samira declared, glaring at Castiel. "You said I was powerful. I should be able to protect the people around me."

"You can't control it. You can feel it now, the power isn't safe within you."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I want to be home right now" Samira argued, stepping closer to him. Home. She couldn't leave her father, not after they had finally-

_Pop_.

"What?" Samira looked around, and the familiar warm glow of her apartment met her. The kitchen looked the same as she left it this morning. How did she get here? Was this something an angel could do? Did her angelif power do this?

"Oh, Samira! I didn't hear you come in" her father said, walking into the kitchen. The sight of him instantly relieved her. Life could go back to normal. "It's almost dinner-time, and the guys aren't picking me up until 8, so we could go to that sushi place, and-"

Samira rushed forward to hug him tightly, squeezing his skinny frame until she heard his spine pop. She instantly relaxed, not wanting to hurt her tired father. "Hi daddy" she breathed, smiling widely.

"Okay, uh, hi!" She could hear the smile in his voice. His arms wrapped softly around her, cradling her like she was still a newborn "What brought this on?"

"Nothing" she smiled, stepping back. She sniffed, and could feel water leak out of her eyes in her happiness. "Nothing. Just had a…a crazy day."

* * *

"Way to go, Cas!" Dean yelled at the angel. "She's more powerful than the demon kid, and you just pissed her off."

Castiel stared at the spot she had disappeared from. It was odd enough that the girl was Muslim-much unlike the Judeo-Christian world Castiel existed in as an angel-but to be the success of Jonathan… they were certainly met with a problem greater than Lucifer himself. "She's in the city. Seattle. We can find her."

"Are you going to talk to her again? Because that went well last time" Dean continued. Cas just waved him off.

"She has no idea what's she's capable of doing unconsciously. Once she's got an idea of how people are affected by her, then she'll listen. If we're lucky, she'll help us."

Sam coughed, making Cas whip his head to face the tall man. "Will we have to kill her?"

"She's impossible to kill."

"How does that work?" Dean's anger dimmed at his curiosity, now speaking with only irritation in his voice.

Cas stared at the spot once again. He answered, despite thinking about other things. "She's a human with the power of an angel. Anything we do to harm her physical body would just be healed by the angelic power. Anything we do to harm the angel's power would transfer within her body, heal her, but rip her anatomy up enough to leave her insane."

The Winchesters were silent at this.

"Believe me, her very existence is blasphemous to humanity as a whole" Castiel explained, now looking at the two. "But she's something new. There's a reason Jonathan" curse his name "was cast out for trying to create an angel-human hybrid. Because no one has any idea how to stop it."

"But you said that she could help us, right?" Dean asked. The wind howled against them, making the humans shiver. Well, when we say humans, we mean mostly-humans.

Castiel pursed his lips. The cold didn't bother him, but what _did_ was the idea of Samira becoming their enemy. "She can stop the apocalypse or create one herself."

* * *

**I have some ideas for the next chapter, so in the meantime, review!**


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